Innocent: The Prequel
by Blossom286
Summary: The prequel to Innocent...can be read first or after


Most CIA agents knew that Agent Vaughn's attitude on Fridays was always one of levity. Unless Sydney had a mission, he was the happiest man alive. Fridays meant a secret rendezvous with Sydney. And Friday meant the beginning of a weekend with Bianca.  
  
He hardly got any work done on Fridays. 4 months and he still got excited every time he got to look at his daughter's precious face.  
  
Sydney claimed the blonde hair and emerald eyes made her look like her dad. Michael adamantly insisted she was a beautiful little replica of her mom. Either way, they were convinced she was the most beautiful baby in the world.  
  
3:00.  
  
Two more hours until he could leave.  
  
3:05.  
  
Not a chance in hell he'd make it until 5.  
  
He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a frame. Ornate silver, it contained a photograph of himself with Sydney and Bianca 2 months earlier. Jack had taken the picture. Surprisingly he supported them through everything. He'd helped the arrange a secret wedding when they first found out Sydney was pregnant. And now he was as devoted to Bianca as a grandfather could be.  
  
At 4:30 Vaughn surrendered and snuck from the office. Screw Devlin, he needed to see his wife and daughter.  
  
He paged Sydney and keyed in the code for the warehouse. "Bianca passes," as they dubbed them, always took place at the warehouse. You couldn't really hand a baby and all her necessary acoutrements to someone you weren't supposed to know.  
  
5:00.  
  
No sing of Sydney. He checked his cell phone to make sure she hadn't tried to call, even though he knew she hadn't.  
  
5:10.  
  
Sydney was never late on Fridays.  
  
5:30.  
  
Jack swore she didn't have a mission. She left Credit Dauphine at 4, saying she was going straight home.  
  
5:45.  
  
Michael felt panic. It was a well known feeling. Every mission she went on, everytime she had to lie about Bianca's dad, everytime she had to leave Bianca in someone else's care.  
  
Sydney didn't answer her cell.  
  
6:00.  
  
Screw it all to hell.  
  
No longer able to stand it, he jumped in his CIA-issue black car. It took 10 minutes to get to Sydney's. 15 in order to make sure he didn't have any tails. Each minute seemed unbearable.  
  
6:15.  
  
Michael breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled into the driveway. Her Land Rover was there. She must have fallen asleep.  
  
Sydney didn't answer the door. The relief he felt only a moment before gave way to a new rush of panic.  
  
He pulled out the key he never used but kept in his pocket anyway. He stuck it in the door, only to find it already unlocked. Now he really knew something was wrong. Every day was a dangerous balance, a life or death situation. She always watched for trails, guarded her speech, she wasn't about to forget something as simple as locking the front door.  
  
He pushed it open, dread clutching his heart.  
  
The furniture was all in place. A half-read magazine lay open on the couch. The microwave door stood ajar, a bottle sitting inside. Bianca's pacifier lay in the middle of the floor where it had presumably been dropped.  
  
It looked like a typical Sydney-and-Bianca scene. Except that Sydney and Bianca weren't there.  
  
He walked through the hallway, first coming to Bianca's nursery. Sydney loved the nursery. Francie helped her paint a garden scene on all the walls, and he had found a beautifully ornate antique crib. He crossed the room to the cherry-wood crib, finding it empty. Even the pink blanket Jack bought, embroidered "Bianca Marie" with her date of birth, was missing.  
  
He left the nursery and walked to Sydney's room.  
  
The door was closed, and he cautiously pushed it open.  
  
His nightmares came true in an instant. Dark crimson drops lead his eyes to the bed. He screamed in agony, falling to his knees.  
  
Sobbing helplessly, he heard nothing. The sounds of footsteps, the crying of a baby, the cocking of a gun. All was drowned out by the sounds of his own grief. And grief was the last sound Michael Vaughn heard. 


End file.
